


A Man on the Table

by toyhto



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, I suppose, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, bookshop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29351088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: There's a man in Alfie's bed (and on his table).
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 21
Kudos: 86





	A Man on the Table

**Author's Note:**

  * For [comebackjessica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/gifts).



> This is a Fanfiction Trope Mash-Up fic for @comebackjessica! The prompt was Bookshop AU and Did They or Didn't They? and well, there's a bookshop, and I'm not telling you if they did or not, so read the story. Also, my first time writing Tommy and Alfie in (vaguely) modern setting, nice and interesting!
> 
> [Further fangirling can be found on my tumblr.](http://toyhto.tumblr.com)

Apparently it’s the fucking morning already. That’s fine. That’s really fine. He knew it was fucking coming. Always comes after the night, doesn’t it? And he’s fine. He just needs to get his fucking eyes open. And maybe get out of the bed. And take a shower. And make himself breakfast. And then go downstairs to open his bookshop. And then stand there like a fucking human being talking with the customers, if anyone happens to stop by. But just last night, he held a party in the bookshop, or, a kind of blook club thing with tea and pastries and whiskey, and that’s kind of a thing is supposed to be good for business. So, there’re going to be customers, and he needs to be awake to sell them books. Goddamn.

Okay, so, he’s not fucking alright with this morning thing. Not at all. Which is perfectly fine, because maybe it’s not the morning after all, maybe the fucking light trying to get under his eyelids comes from the lamp in the ceiling. Maybe he forgot to switch off the light again. Maybe he… Oh, bloody fucking hell, who’s he kidding, because certainly not himself. His lamp isn’t so bright. That’s the sun. It’s the morning and he really needs to get out of the bed.

He opens one eye and then closes it again as quickly as he can.

Bloody fucking hell, there’s a man in his bed.

It’s not the first time. There has been a man in his bed before. Like, plenty of times. Multiple times. So, there’s no reason to be surprised. Men like him. That’s just the way it is. Maybe it’s the beard. He’s got the best beard in the fucking city and men are jealous of his beard but also want to fuck him. It’s like science, really. No room to argue. So, he should just take a deep breath, open his eyes, say good morning to the man in his bed, and go make breakfast. For himself. And for the man in his bed, if the man happens to be hungry.

He takes a quick glance at the man, then closes his eyes again. Okay, usually when there’s a man in his bed in the morning, he remembers how the man got there in the evening. Or during the night. Sometimes very early in the morning. Once it happened that he had a very nice date with a very pretty man in the late afternoon, and they just came back to his place and went to bed and didn’t leave, so the man was still there in the morning. That happens. Rarely, though. Sadly. But what never happens is that he doesn’t know how a man in his bed got there.

He opens his eyes as quietly as he can. Turns out he can do that pretty much without a sound at all, which is just great in the circumstances. He’s lying on his back, so he really can’t see the man too well without turning his head, and he can’t turn his head, because the pillowcase might let out a sound, like, that kind of a sound that pillowcases make when someone turns their head, and the man might wake up and ask what he’s doing in Alfie’s bed. And Alfie wouldn’t know the answer. That would be embarrassing. So, none of that. He watches from the corner of his eye as the man continues to sleep in his bed, drooling onto his sheets. The good news is that the man is very good-looking. Even better news is that the man is good-looking in the exact way that Alfie likes the most. The bad news, however, is that the man has absolutely the most ridiculous haircut Alfie’s ever seen.

So, pretty but dumb. Not exactly Alfie’s type. Alfie’s type would be something like pretty, clever, and bossy as fuck. But then again, the man is already in his bed for some fucking reason.

He clears his throat.

The man startles awake and opens his eyes. Then he blinks. Then he blinks again. His eyes are so pretty it makes it easier for Alfie to ignore the haircut. Apparently the man’s pretty eyes also make Alfie forget that he’s supposed to ask what the hell the man’s doing in his bed.

“What the fuck?” the man asks. His voice is low and hoarse and sounds like he’s had a pleasant lifetime with whiskey and cigarette. Judging by his face, he can’t be older than thirty.

“Yeah, exactly what I was wondering, mate,” Alfie says in his nicest conversation tone. It’s a bit odd trying to chat up someone whom you met in your own bed, but Alfie can fucking talk. He knows he can. His mother used to say so. “Nice day outside, isn’t it?”

“What?” the man asks.

Odd. Usually people react better to that line. “Nothing. Just trying to be friendly here.”

“Friendly?” the man asks, eyeing Alfie very suspiciously. He doesn’t seem to be the trusting kind, not at all. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Alfie Solomons,” Alfie says, wriggles his hand free from under the duvet and gives it to the man. “Nice to meet you.”

The man doesn’t shake his hand. He doesn’t tell Alfie his name, either.

Alfie clears his throat. “And you are…?”

The man sighs. “Oh, right,” he says, grabs Alfie’s duvet and sits up on the mattress. “This makes fucking sense. Did we…?”

“I think not,” Alfie says. “Depends on what you’re asking, though.”

The man digs his fingertips into his temples. He certainly looks like he’s got a headache. “For fuck’s sake. Polly’s going to kill me.”

“Who’s Polly?” Alfie asks. Just to be polite. He’s not jealous or anything. “Your wife?”

“No,” the man says and lets out a noise that might be very dry laughter. On the other hand, maybe it was a cough. “No, thank god.”

“Hmm,” Alfie says. He’s not exactly relieved, but he is relieved. “Your mother, then?”

“Polly’s my aunt,” the man says, “and she’s going to kill me again.”

Okay, that doesn’t sound too good. “…again?”

“And after she’s done with me, Ada’s going to kill me as well,” the man says. “I fucking promised her that I wouldn’t do this again.”

Alfie bites his lip. “…your wife?”

“No,” the man snaps at him, “my sister. What’s wrong with you? Why do you think that I’ve got a wife?”

“Murphy’s law,” Alfie says and reaches for the side table to take his glasses. When he puts them on, the man becomes even prettier and the haircut turns out to be even more ridiculous than he originally thought, which is pretty damn impressing. He clears his throat. “So, you don’t have a wife then?”

“No,” the man says and sighs, “yeah, I’ve got a wife. Technically.”

Alfie blinks.

“Sorry,” the man says. “I really don’t remember what I told you last night, but I wish I didn’t propose to you or something like that, because the thing is that I’m kind of catholic and we aren’t supposed to get a divorce.”

“…you’re married?”

“I was young and stupid and she had an Irish accent. I’ve got a thing for Irish accent. Don’t know what that’s about. Anyway, we’ve been separated since I realised I’m actually pretty gay and also very bad at being married. She moved to New York with my ex-girlfriend.”

“…what?”

“Lizzie,” the man says, glaring at him. “My wife, Grace, moved to New York with my ex, Lizzie. I still get postcards from them, and they mainly boast about how much sex they’re having. Didn’t I tell you anything last night?”

“Well,” Alfie says, “no, you didn’t.”

“Oh, right,” the man says, “so, I just saw you in the party and jumped at you, is that it? I do that sometimes. When I’ve had too much to drink. It wasn’t my fault, really. There was a party in the bookshop across the street. An odd thing. A lot of books and surprisingly little alcohol, but of course I brought my own booze.”

Alfie opens his mouth and then closes it again. Maybe it’s time to sit up on the bed. He does that but makes sure the duvet is covering his best bits. He doesn’t appreciate spoilers. “That was my bookshop.”

“Really?” the man asks, frowning at him. “Well, that explains why I slept with you. I like nerds.”

“I’m not a nerd,” Alfie says. “And you didn’t sleep with me.”

The man laughs. He has a lovely laughter, dry and slightly terrifying.

“Really,” Alfie says. “You didn’t sleep with me. We haven’t fucked. Yet.”

The man stops laughing. “Really?”

“Yeah, mate, sorry. We didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you were too drunk.”

“I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in fifteen years,” Alfie says. “Yeah, I’m sure. I hosted a party in my bookshop, then when everyone was gone I locked the door, came upstairs, brushed my teeth and went to bed. So, we didn’t fuck. But if you like, we can fix that –“

“But,” the man cuts in, “if we didn’t fuck, what the fuck am I doing in your fucking bed?”

“How the fuck would I know?” Alfie asks in his most polite tone. “You were there when I woke up.”

The man blinks at him. “…what?”

“Yeah, mate, I found you here this morning. I mean, five minutes ago.”

“You don’t know how I got here?”

“No.”

“Did we even kiss?”

“No,” Alfie says slowly, “but if you want to, we could –“

“Are you absolutely sure you’re sure?” the man asks. “Because no offense, but you look exactly the kind of a man that I’d fuck.”

“Right. Is it the beard?”

The man shakes his head slowly. “No. I think it’s the personality. You know, the whole ‘I’m a fucking gift to mankind’ thing.”

“What?” Alfie asks. “I don’t have that.” He did not.

“Sure,” the man says, takes a deep breath and shifts on the mattress. For a second Alfie thinks he’s going to leave, but he doesn’t, he only sprawls and ends up poking at Alfie’s left knee with his toes. “So, if we didn’t have sex, and we didn’t kiss, then I suppose I’ve ended up in your bed on my own. Maybe I was looking for the toilet. Maybe I got lost or fell asleep and woke up at night and then found your bed.”

“Yeah,” Alfie says slowly, wondering if he ought to suggest breakfast or a blowjob. “Makes sense.”

“Maybe I thought this was my house. Are we above the bookshop? Because I live just across the street. With my sister and my aunt.”

“But not with your wife.”

“No,” the man says, “because I’m gay. Well, I mean, I fuck women regularly, just so check that I’m still gay, you know?”

“No,” Alfie says, “I absolutely don’t. Sounds horrible.”

“So they say.”

“…who?”

“The women,” the man says, pushes his hand into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. “Can I?”

“No,” Alfie says.

The man looks a little shocked.

“I don’t like the taste,” Alfie explains.

The man blinks at him almost lazily. “And how’re you going to taste it, if I smoke it?”

“I have a few ideas,” Alfie says. “Or did you want breakfast first?”

**

“What’s your name, anyway?”

“Tommy Shelby.”

“Nice to meet you,” Alfie says and then stops, because there’s something odd about the look on Tommy’s face. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” Tommy says. He’s panting. He’s gorgeous. The hair is still ridiculous, though. “No, but you could. A little.”

“What? Hurt you?”

“Fine,” Tommy says and sighs. “Maybe next time.” And then the tiny fucker goes suddenly quiet, because Alfie takes a better grip on his wrists and slams his cock all the way back in.

“Alright?”

“Yeah,” Tommy Shelby says, staring at him as if he’s the one getting fucked. He bites his lip, pulls his cock out and pushes it back in. He’s known Tommy Shelby for less than an hour and he’s already beginning to think that the man’s a goddamn bastard. Like, truly. Alfie shouldn’t have agreed to make Tommy breakfast first, but Tommy said he was hungry, and he looks hungry, still does. Alfie fried him eggs and made him tea and then watched him eat, which was pretty fucking nice actually but also inconvenient, because when they were finally ready to fuck, it was also time to open the bookshop.

The bell above the front door rings.

“No,” Tommy says, breathing like a stream train. His face is red, his neck is red, and his cock is dripping onto his stomach. His tattoos are weird, but Alfie’s are weirder, so Alfie’s winning. “Fuck, no.”

“Sorry, mate,” Alfie says and pulls out.

“No,” Tommy hisses at him from the desk where he’s lying on his back. “No, you aren’t fucking going to –“

“I’ve got to run my business, right,” Alfie says, takes his dressing gown and wraps it around his waist. The fabric is pretty thick so no one’s going to notice his hard-on. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

“No,” Tommy says, “no, no, no –“

Alfie walks out of the office and closes the door behind him. Then he locks it mostly to avoid customers wandering into the office by an accident and seeing Tommy Shelby on the table, naked from the waist down and fucking shaking, because that’s what Tommy’s going to be. Alfie’s bookshop is a respectable firm. He makes sure his beard is fine and goes to greet the customer, who doesn’t seem too interested in books.

“Hello,” he says. “How can I help you?”

“Where’s Tommy?” she asks.

Alfie opens his mouth and then closes it again. “Tommy?”

“Thomas Shelby,” the woman says, “my nephew who went to your party last night and didn’t come home.”

“Oh,” Alfie says.

“And you look exactly his type. Huge, cocky, overly confident, thinks his beard is the best in the city. Are you two done fucking yet?”

Alfie clears his throat. “Well, actually –“

“Never mind,” the woman says. “Just tell him he needs to come home as soon as he can get his dick back into his pants. We’ve got business to think about.”

“You must be Polly,” Alfie says. “Nice to meet you. I like you already.”

“Just get on with it,” Polly says, turns and walks to the door. There she stops. “And tell him that Ada’s pissed at him. She went with him to your book party only because he promised her he wouldn’t ditch her for a man.”

“Say hello to Ada,” Alfie says. “Maybe we could all have dinner sometime this week. Maybe Friday?”

“I think maybe not,” Polly says.

“Great,” Alfie says, “see you then.”

Polly glares at him and walks out of the door. He thinks about locking the front door but decides against it. It’d be bad for the business.

When he goes back to Tommy, Tommy’s still on the table, which is good, but he’s also trying to get his forefinger into his arse, which is bad.

“Stop that,” Alfie says and bats Tommy’s hand away. “Stop that immediately. I’m going to fuck you. That’s my job.”

“Well, you weren’t here,” Tommy says. The fucker manages to sound just as a desperate as a minute ago. “What the fuck were you even doing there?”

“Polly says hi,” Alfie says, opens the dressing gown, spreads Tommy’s knees and settles in between them. “She also wanted to tell you that Ada’s angry, and that we all are having dinner together on Friday.”

Tommy laughs. “No, she didn’t.”

“Well, the first part was true,” Alfie says and pushes into Tommy. At least Tommy stops laughing. “Slow or fast?”

“Slow,” Tommy says and then takes a deep breath, “I mean, fast. I can’t… Can you…”

Okay, so, the poor fucker’s going to take it both slow and fast for as long as he possibly can, or until another customer walks in.

“Shh,” Alfie says as nicely as he can at the moment, so, quite nicely. He’s a gift to mankind, after all.


End file.
